Dauntless in the Dark
by jukehero461
Summary: Jack Kiel has been doing his best to keep a neighborhood safe from gangs and corruption in an uncaring city. But when he's Embraced, he must find a way to defend against the horrors in this new world of darkness. My first WoD fanfic! Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1: Prepare to Defend

The thug landed on the rain-soaked pavement, snoring, as Jack shook some feeling back into his hand.

"Well, that's just bloody brilliant." Jack muttered, turning to the rest of his crew. Most gangs on the streets nowadays were generally of two kinds. Either they were posers, dressed in ridiculous outfits that would make a rodeo clown stop and stare, or they were leering, stone-cold killers that did whatever the hell they wanted, because they were strong and others were weak.

Jack's crew didn't fit into either of these categories. There were ten in all, all dressed in browns and greys and blacks. No "swag" or "bling" to be seen, beyond a wedding ring on a few hands or a cross on a chain around someone's neck. And they weren't leering, nor did they give the impression that they were killers. They were… somber. Like men that did a hard, difficult and dangerous job for not nearly enough compensation.

Jack nodded to them. "The shit's hitting the fan, boys. Our friend right there just confirmed that the Angels are going to try to roll through tonight."

There were several sighs, and a few muttered curses. The Angels were a gang from the second category, who demanded protection money, and torched the shops that didn't pay. This neighborhood was under Jack's protection, so the shop owners wouldn't ante up. The Angels were going to try to get the point across.

"Think we'll get any help from the blues?" One of the men asked. Jack turned to look at Darson, one of the newer additions to the crew. A younger man, in his mid-twenties, Darson had joined up because he wanted to make the neighborhood a better place for the family he was hoping to start with his fiancée. He hadn't quite got that deep stain of cynicism on his soul yet.

Jack shook his head. "I doubt it. We're not in the Highlands, not even close. Hell, we're not even close enough to Downtown. They barely send patrols down here anymore. And if they did show up, they'd probably arrest a few of us too, just for looking at them."

A few of the other men nodded to this. The Highlands was the part of the city where the rich and powerful decided the fate of the people in the city. Many of the crew resented them, hated them even. Jack didn't. He knew it wasn't a class of people that was the problem, or even the government, though they both left a lot to be desired. It just seemed the world was just getting darker nowadays…

He shook the thoughts off. "Right. We don't have much time. They'll be starting in a few hours. We need to get equipped and get to Sylvan Square to intercept them, before they get to Rhine Street and start flinging firebombs." He turned to Eddie Wales, a tall, gangly kid, barely out of college. "Eddie, run to Rhine Street and warn them. Shout, get a bull horn, wake up the whole damn block if you have to. Make sure they know what's coming. Hopefully they'll be able to get the police there to defend if we can't stop them."

"Gotcha boss. I'll meet up with you in the Square-" Eddie started, but John raised a hand.

"No, Eddie. I need you to make sure that everyone on that street is safe. Several of those shopkeepers are old-timers that won't be able to get out if the street catches fire. Get them to a safe distance and make sure they stay there. If we win, we'll contact you. If we lose, you have to make sure they don't do anything stupid. It's all for nothing if they try to go down with the shops."

Eddie frowned, and looked like he wanted to say something, but John stared at him steadily, and he relented. "Okay boss... I'll keep em' safe." He ran to the edge of the alley, turned around, thumped a fist across his chest, and sped off.

Jack turned to the rest of them. "Alright, the rest of you get sorted out and get to the Square. And Ford, I know there's no time for barricades, but try to scrounge up something we can use for cover. I don't know who's supplying them nowadays, but I'll bet they'll have a few guns. And get me a stool."

Ford raised an eyebrow in question, but nodded and sped off as well. The rest of the men dispersed, heading out of the alley with solemn purpose. All except one, who walked over to Jack. Jack nodded to him, and they both turned and walked out of the alley and down the street.

"Why'd you send off the kid? We could've used him." The other man said after a while.

"So he'd be out of it. Someone has to carry on if we don't make it, and he's got the passion."

"Heh, clever. And you gave him a job that needs doing and that would give him a full view of the effects without him getting stuck in. You're a clever bastard."

Jack smiled at that. "Many would argue that picking a fight with the Angels, who are known to have viciously killed the previous gangs in their territory, would be a good deal off from 'clever', Sam."

Sam Rhodes eyeballed his old friend. "True enough… what is it, Jack?"

Jack turned to regard one of the very few people he called friend. Sam was man of middling height, now in his thirties, still handsome but looking haggard lately. His blond hair was done back in a ponytail, and his blue eyes, not the baby blue of a runway model but a deep, royal blue, had a piercing quality that Jack was still taken back by after all these years.

Jack was silent for a moment. "Nothing, old friend…"

"Bullshit. I've known you for nearly fifteen years now, bucko. I know your tells. Something's eating at you." Sam looked at Jack, concern on his face.

Jack looked back, then sighed. "Let's at least get a beer before we get into that…"

They pushed open the door to their destination, the Standing Stone, one of the city's oldest bars. It did not have class. It did not have frills. It did not serve cocktails, fruit drinks, or anything with a paper umbrella in it. It did, however, serve beer, hard liquor and a beef-and-bacon sandwich to die for.

The pair sauntered up to the bar. Albert Rhodes was the proprietor, landlord and bouncer for this establishment, which he'd inherited from his father. Where his brother Sam had charm and a piercing perception of the world, Albert had all the tact and social grace of an alligator with terminal toothache. Where his brother was average in height and build, Albert, from working the bar on his own, had developed hard muscle and a 6' 3" height, and had his blond hair shaven on his head but well-kept in a Van Dyke beard. He'd found his craft when it came to brewing late in life, but he was a quick learner. And while he was a gruff, somewhat miserly grump, he was also a good man who had been known to quietly cook up a meal for some of the worse-off people to wander into the bar.

He saw the two sit down at the bar and ambled over to them. He glared at his brother, who smiled and waved. Then he turned to Jack and his expression softened. "Haven't seen you for a while, Jack. I thought you'd gone and finally gotten yourself killed."

Jack smirked as the jukebox in the corner started playing Darby O'Gill. Albert was a diehard fan of Irish music, and the jukebox was stocked with his favorites. Anyone who suggested he vary his selection was scoffed at. Anyone who suggested he include pop or rap music was removed from the bar so fast they wouldn't even feel the bruises until they got up off the sidewalk.

"Reports of my demise have been greatly exaggerated." Jack said. It was an old ritual between the stolid barkeep and the civic vigilante. Albert smirked back at Jack and reached under the bar as the jukebox got into swing:

"_You've all got your brothers, your comrades and lovers  
Your friends, your companions, your partners in crime…"_

Albert pulled out two bottles of bright blue glass and set one in front of Jack. When Sam reached for the second, Albert pulled it away.

"Not until you've paid your tab, you freeloading idiot."

Sam put a hand over his heart as if wounded.

"Oh, dear brother, how you hurt me so! If old dad were here…"

Albert scoffed. "He'd slap you on the back of the head and tell you to stand your round like everyone else."

"He did too, as I recall." Jack said, grinning as he twisted open his beer.

"_And the girls that you meet in the pub or the street  
That'll set you to singin' or writin' in rhyme."_

Sam gave Jack a withering glance. "Traitor! How am I to march into battle with you without a little liquid courage?"

"In a straight line, perhaps?"

Sam continued glaring at Jack, who raised his free hand in mock surrender and looked at Albert. "Put it on my tab. God knows we could all use one tonight."

Albert grunted and leaned back underneath the bar.

"_One or two of them stay, one or two pass away  
And the rest of them fade like a dream that is lost."_

He came back up with another bottle and slid it across the pitted bar to Sam, who deftly caught it and flicked off the cap. Albert twisted his bottle open as well.

"To friends, both here and gone." Jack intoned.

"Gone, but not forgotten." The brothers echoed back.

They all drank in silence for a moment.

"_And we watch them walk out without raisin' a shout  
Without realizin' or counting the cost."_

Jack looked at his bottle thoughtfully. "Changed the brew, Al? Tastes smoother than before."

Albert beamed proudly. "Yeah, I'm trying a different schedule for the casks, and adding in a few drops of honey as well."

Sam rolled his eyes. "It's beer. It gets you buzzed. Hell, I don't even know why you keep these warm, why not put them in a fridge or something?"

Albert glared at him. "Philistine."

Jack chuckled and pulled at the bottle again as Albert wandered over to another customer.

"_Fill me jar up with porter, me time's gettin' shorter  
I'll sing about Michael, and Conor and Merv…"_

"So, what is it?"

John's mood darkened instantly. "Ah… right."

Sam put an elbow on the bar. "Come on, Jack. What's eating you? Normally when the gangs roll in you're full of fire. Now you just look…"

"Tired." It wasn't a question.

Sam nodded. "Yeah. What is it?"

"_But I faith need the stout for to get the words out  
For to whet me oul' whistle and get up the nerve."  
_  
Jack pulled on the bottle again. When he put it down, he spoke like he'd come off a 16-hour shift.

"I feel like it's ending, Sam. I've been fighting to oust the gangs from this neighborhood for years now. Founded the crew, found people who were willing to fight for our little brownstone corner, so it could be somewhere worth living. And I'm just starting to go down under the weight of it, Sam."

Sam didn't speak, so Jack kept talking. "What have I really done? Oh, I've busted up some gangs, cracked some skulls together. May even have gotten a little reputation now. But it's just… wallpaper, Sam. Stories. What have I actually _done?_"

"_He was all full o' passion, but when he got lashin'  
He lost all his money, his wits and his luck."_

"You dumbass."

Jack looked sharply at Sam, who was grinning on the stool next to him. "Tread carefully, Sam Rhodes."

Sam rolled his eyes and continued. "Is that it? Is that all? Geez, I thought you had gotten cancer or something!" Jack's face must've been priceless right now, because Sam burst into laughter.

"What the hell is so funny, Sam!?"

"_You!_ You sit on this barstool sippin' yer piss-tasting beer-"

From down the bar came a cry of "I heard that, asshole!"

Sam ignored this and rolled on. "-and pitying yourself because 'Oh woe is me, I can't see the good I've done in this world because I'm too busy brooding and pitying my drunk-ass self and doing my Batman impression-"

"Don't even go there, man."

"Come on! You haven't done any good? Do you remember what the neighborhood was like when you came back after washing out of the police academy?"

"I didn't wash out, I was expelled."

"Only you would correct me on that."

"It means I was thrown out because I was a hothead as opposed to an incompetent-"

"_LISTEN!_ It was _chaos,_ man. Or at the very least, tyranny. The Demon Dogs had this area as their playground. They did what they wanted, when they wanted, and people around here didn't do a damn thing. Not the city, not the police, not even the neighbors. They'd forgotten that they could do anything! And then you, with your 'Thou shalt not be a dickweasel!' attitude come storming in and take on the gang single-handed!"

"I had help-"

"You had a few people nervously point you in the direction of the gang hideouts. Then you went in and beat the ever-loving crap outta them! And they ran! And then people realized that if _one guy_ could make a bunch of full on gangsters run for their lives, what would happen if they actually stood up to these losers? And then, when the Devil Dogs came back around, the same people who had cowered before them a week earlier threw them out onto the street! And then you walked up to those people and asked if they would help keep other gangs out. Not as some holy crusader, but just as a guy wanting to defend his patch. You got people to stand up and face people twice their size and throw them out on their ass, and you think you've done nothing?"

"But now I've pulled a bunch of men, married men, men with kids and family and people who care about them, I've pulled them into a confrontation with a gang that could _kill_ them, Sam!"

"We all joined up, Sam. We all wanted to keep this little patch of brownstone clean. We still do."

"I didn't ask-"

"Neither did we. We didn't ask to be stomped on by the gangs. We didn't ask for our delis and bodegas and homes to be burned. We sure as _hell_ didn't ask for a city like this, where cops and politicians smirk and _laugh_ when they hear about trouble down here. You showed us it didn't have to be this way, that we can get mad, that we _are_ mad, and we sure as hell aren't going to take it anymore."

Sam took a deep breath. _"So quit your whiny, self-indulgent pity party you brooding, magnificent idiot and drink the rest of your beer so we can go fuck those dickheads up for even _thinking _of torching our street!"_

Jack nearly fell off his stool as Sam screamed in his face. The other bar patrons were staring as well.

Jack pulled himself back up on his stool and stared at Sam for a moment. Then he picked up his bottle, tipped it back, and drained the rest of the beer.

He slammed it back down on the bar and stood up. "Al!"

Albert ran over. "What's the hell's going on over here? I swear, if you scare off my customers-" he growled, pointing at Sam.

"I need the bag, Al."

Al stopped mid-rant, and his face drained of color. "Wh-what? Are you serious!?"

"I wouldn't ask if I wasn't, Al."

Albert ran a hand through his beard, and nodded. He disappeared into a back room and came back with a duffel bag.

It was heavy. It clinked.

Sam was curious. "What the hell is in there?"

"A last resort. I'm really hoping you don't have to see me use it. Let's go."

He put a ten on the bar and walked out with Sam in tow, as the jukebox played out the last chorus.

"_Fill me jar up with porter, me time's gettin' shorter,  
I'll sing about Michael, and Conor and Merv…_

_But I faith need the stout, for to get the words out,  
For to whet me oul' whistle and get up the nerve."_

AUTHOR'S NOTE: First chapter, first fanfic. Tell me how I did! I do not own World of Darkness, unfortunately, only these characters. The song is called "The Toast" by Darby O'Gill, and it's up on Grooveshark. Not Youtube though, for some reason, which is a crime against high art.


	2. Chapter 2: Blood on the Pavement

Jack and Sam got to the square before the rest of the crew. Sylvan Square was not, as its name suggested, an open square. It was simply a large space in a back alley, with a few twisted inner city trees in each corner and dead leaves plastering the weathered bricks.

Jack smiled as the wet leaves shifted under his feet. He'd always liked this spot. The pavement was cracked, and the trees were stunted, tough, and stubborn things that had hung on through smog, rain, fire and a few short-lived attempts at uprooting them. It was a place that was undeniably… _real._ It gave the impression that it had been here for a long time and that, why yes, it would go on being here no matter what your bloody opinion of it was.

"So what's the plan, Jack?" Sam asked, looking around the dismal yard. "Not much cover… no great ambush spots…" He frowned. "Why'd you pick here for our showdown?"

Jack put the duffel he was carrying down on the wet stone, where it clanked heavily. "Because it's out of the way, and on our territory. And this is the way they're coming. Duking it out on the street would likely result in bystanders getting involved, and that's not something I want to get into." He zipped the bag open and started rummaging around inside. "Besides, if we ambushed them they'd just retreat and come back later when we weren't expecting them, unless we somehow sealed off all the alleys, and even the blues would take offense to us trying to block off an entre neighborhood."

Sam nodded along, and then stopped as Jack pulled out a pair of honest-to-god metal gauntlets and strapped them on.

"The hell are those for?" Sam said, walking over to the bag on the ground and looking inside. His eyes widened. "Is that-"

"Yep." Jack said as he pulled out a pair of metal shinguards and pulled them on as well.

"Why the hell-"

"It's effective. Don't need much training to use one, and if you _do _have training…" he grunted as he pulled out a heavily reinforced motorcycle jacket with metal plates sewn across it in a patchwork pattern. "It's better than any amount of switchblades or lead pipes." He struggled into the reinforced jacket as Sam gaped at the most intimidating item in the bag.

"Why not a gun, or , you know, _anything else?_" Sam asked, his voice a bit shrill.

"Guns make it too easy to make mistakes. Forget to put a safety on, forget to stay at the right distance, let a little dirt get into the chamber, and you may as well call the undertaker ahead of time and save him the trouble." Jack grunted as he strapped on makeshift metal greaves. "That, and I find I can be far more scary with that as opposed to a gun."

"Have you ever actually used it?" Sam muttered, no small amount of panic on his face now.

"Once. And he lived. Like I said, I have training. And as I said back at the bar…" he reached down into the bag and pulled the last item out. "This is a last resort."

Soon after, the rest of the crew showed up in twos and threes. A few men were helping Ford Collins with some heavy tables and even some honest-to-god sandbags. Though they nearly dropped these as they saw Jack at the mouth of the square, armed and armored.

"Christ, Jack, you look like you're expecting to pose for a heavy metal album." Ford said, flipping a table over to face the other end of the alley and stacking sandbags in front of it.

Jack smiled, and grabbed the stool from Ford. "The rest of you set up and keep behind the barricade. Be careful, because they might have firebombs, so don't cluster too tight and be ready to leg it down the alley back to the street. Keep this alley closed to them, keep your ground, and they'll have to pile up and squeeze. And that's when we'll pound them to dust, boys, because I know for damn sure that any one of you defending your home is worth five of them trying to take it from you!"

This got a ragged cheer and a few smiles as they hastily constructed their ramshackle fortifications. One of the men slapped Jack on the shoulder. "With you on the front line, Jack, it'll take an act of God-"

"I won't be on the front line, Jim."

The rest of the crew looked up in confusion. "What do you mean, Jack?"

"Jim, you and the rest will be behind the barricade. I'll be in front of it."

"Come on Jack, if we stand all together-"

"Then they'll just shoot at us until we run. Unless they're even bigger fools than we thought."

Sam gave him a sidelong look. "But… how'll you keep them from just shooting you?"

Jack hefted his weapon and the stool and grinned. "By giving them something else to worry about."

The Angels came roaring down the alleyway, whooping and growling. They had heard about the defender's plans to block them off, and they had laughed. They had been drinking for the last hour, working themselves up into a frenzy, and now they poured down the alleys, guns ready, knives out, ready for blood.

But instead of the ten trembling shopkeepers they had expected to find, cowering in their presence, there was a man, in motorcycle leathers and metal plates, sitting on a stool in the middle of the square, with the rest of the neighborhood watch grimly standing, guns poised, behind a barricade in the opposite alley.

The man was… intimidating. Perhaps it was his darker skin and hair. Maybe it was his outfit, like he'd stepped out of a Road Warrior movie. It could be that it was the way he was simply paying them no mind, like they were insignificant.

Or it might be the fact that he was sitting on a stool, casually running a whetstone over an immaculate, wickedly sharp machete.

The frenzied charge stopped, confused as this turn of events. This was not according to plan. In the Angel's experience, people either turned and ran for their life, or they charged right back and everyone just tried to kill each other.

The whooping and shouting slowly died away, until the only sound was the rustling of dead leaves and the beat of the rain and the steady rasping of the whetstone.

There were a few murmurs from the Angels' ranks, until one tough pushed his way to the front and laughed.

The tough swaggered forward. "Well now, look at this! We got ourselves a bona-fide nutjob!"

The Angels all laughed, and began to jeer at the man on the stool, who continued to ignore them.

The tough seemed annoyed that the stranger wasn't even looking up. He pressed on, "I'll bet you think you look like some sorta fuckin' superhero or sumthin', sittin' there like you own this alley! Well, dumbass…"

The tough stood right in front of the blade-wielding "nutjob" which said a great deal about either his confidence or his schooling. "I say this piss-stained alley is mine now! What do think about-"

In a blur, Jack whipped his arm up and threw the machete into the rain above him. The tough, along with everyone else watching, took a step back in surprise as they watched the blade fly.

And while they watched the silver blur, Jack rose and drove a metal-plated fist into the gut of the tough in front of him, who was still staring at the machete. He doubled over in agony, and Jack drove a reinforced elbow onto the back of his lowered skull.

The tough dropped to the pavement, out like a light. Jack sat back down on the stool, raised his empty hand…

And caught the machete neatly as it came back down, inspecting the edge and continuing to sharpen it as if nothing had happened.

The whole encounter had occurred in less than five seconds.

The spectators were all in various states of shock. Some shouted, some laughed, and some just stared with their mouths open.

Back at the alley, Sam ran a hand over his face, thinking, _"Christ, where the hell did he learn how to do that!?_"

He looked across to the Angels, the scarred, vicious gang that had terrorized neighborhoods all around the city, and saw how they all shifted their feet nervously and didn't take their eyes off of Jack.

Sam's eyes widened in realization.

"_They're terrified! They could just shoot him, right now, and they'd be able to roll right over us. Hell, there's enough guns in that crowd to make swiss cheese seem like a pleasant alternative! But they're terrified of this machete-wielding _maniac…_"_

The Angels started to murmur amongst themselves, deciding on their next move, and while they squabbled, a younger Angel shoved his way to the front and turned to his criminal friends.

Sam, along with a few others in the watch, winced. _"Geez, he's just a kid_."

"Come on! He's just one guy, and all he's got is a knife! We've got guns!"

"_Bloody big knife."_ Sam thought.

The kid waved his pistol in the air emphatically, "We've taken on tougher shit than a hopped-up _shopkeeper!_ We can-"

At this point the speaker noticed that his fellow Angels were edging away from him. He turned around just in time to feel the machete prick against his neck.

Jack loomed over him. He was six and a half feet tall, and the Angel was only an inch or two shorter, but he still gave the impression of towering over the kid. He held the blade, unmoving, at the Angel kid's throat.

The Angel kid looked into the face of the crazy bastard who would bring a knife to a gunfight, but met the cold brown eyes of a perfectly sane man.

Perfectly sane, and willing to fight tooth, nail and bloody, _bloody_ blade for his home.

Even on the other side of the square, Sam could hear the kid whimper and saw the stain spreading down his pant leg.

Then he heard Jack growl. "_Drop. Your. Gun."_

The Angel dropped his pistol as if spikes had grown on the handle.

Then he heard "Take off your jacket."

Sam's eyebrows lifted at that. The jackets the Angels wore, according to rumor, were only earned if a new member would endure being stabbed by another member. It was a symbol of commitment, and to force an Angel to take off his jacket was asking to have your guts spilled on the floor.

The kid took off the jacket and dropped it over the pistol without a second thought.

Jack removed the deadly edge and pointed toward the neighborhood watch. "Run."

The Angel turned toward his gang and made to leave, but Jack grabbed him by the collar and spun him around roughly.

"No. _That_ way." Jack said, pointing towards Sam and the watch. "Run past the neighbors you would have killed, down the street past the shops you would have torched, the people you would have _**burned alive**_ because they wouldn't cower at your feet."

Then he leaned close to the Angel and whispered, and Sam just barely heard, "This is mercy. This is your second chance. You won't get a third."

The former Angel looked back at his gang, then back at the leather-and-steel apparition before him. He avoided his gaze and slowly walked across to the watch's barricades.

Sam and the others silently opened ranks to let him pass through.

Sam almost made a comment before his eyes were dragged back to Jack, who had strode back to the middle of the square and turned to the clustered Angels.

"You came here to fight? You came to make this neighborhood fear you? You came to make us _burn!?_ Well, we represent this neighborhood. We are its champions! We are its caretakers, its keepers, its lovers, and for our care and love it gives us a _home!_ It gives us a place that is ours, and ours alone!"

He brought the machete up before him. Behind him, the watch raised their clubs, their tools, their pistols and shotguns. The Angels took a step backward.

"Can you fight us, frighten _us, _make _us burn?_ Will you try to take our _HOMEI? Do you __**dare!?**__"_

Jack slammed the machete into the stool, cleaving it in half in a shower of splinters as his voice thundered down the alleys.

"You may lose. You may win. But rest assured, no matter what happens, if you attempt to cross this square, many of you will not make it to the other side. And, with all of your enemies, how will you defend yourself when they hear that a bunch of _shopkeepers_ cut you down to size?"

The Angels looked at each other nervously. Sam noticed that a few were even edging toward the back of the crowd.

"Your move, gentlemen. You only get one chance."

The tough that had come forward earlier for a steel-plated pounding was struggling to his feet. Almost absentmindedly, Jack punted him back toward the Angels, who scrambled out of the way as their recumbent comrade rolled across the cobbles.

"Turn around. Say that we weren't worth your time. Else…"

Jack shrugged, planted his feet and settled into a low stance, blade at the ready, and growled,

"_Come on if you think you're hard enough."_

The words bounced around the square, with a menacing presence heavy as lead.

Sam stood, transfixed along with everyone else in the square, while his thoughts raced in circles.

"_Shit shit SHIT! There's only ten of us and there's twenty of them and we've all got guns and this'll be a __**bloodbath**__ if anyone moves to do anything except run!"_

Sam looked toward Jack, who was standing in the middle of the square with a scowl on his face.

"_I hope you have another plan, Jack, otherwise we may not be getting out of here in anything bigger than a fucking __**thimble.**__"_

The staredown lasted a full minute. Then there was a commotion from the back of the Angels. There was a cracking sound, a scream, and then the ranks of the Angels hastily parted to let a man forward.

The man was about 6' 3", dressed in white biker leathers, which were, despite the general decay around them, perfectly clean. There was a design like a pair of black angel wings on the front, open wide along his shoulders and down his sleeves. His hair was black, but his skin was pale, very pale, to the point of nearly looking like an albino or just sick, but his face was strong and healthy. He wore a sawed-off shotgun in a holster on his hip and a white bandolier with shells strapped along his belt.

But the strangest thing about him was his presence. When he walked forward, the Angels stepped aside almost reverentially. As he walked to the center of the square, the watch began to feel anxious, like he wasn't quite right, like he fit the world wrong.

Sam had a gift for talking to people, and a strong gut feeling that gave him an edge in knowing when someone was someone to trust or would rob you blind as soon as you turned your back. And this man was just… _wrong._ He walked too gracefully, was too cold, too perfect… he wasn't just strange, he was _alien._ He didn't move like a human, he moved like a predator.

Like a monster.

The stranger stopped in front of Jack, who appeared to be the only one unaffected by this strange newcomer.

The stranger looked him up and down. He cocked his head to one side, as if trying to make up his mind.

Finally, he spoke, and his speech was smooth but commanding, like an iron fist in a silk glove.

"I believe there is a problem?" The stranger asked, looking bored, despite the steel in his tone.

"That remains to be seen." Jack replied, no expression on his face.

"Hmm." The stranger asked, looking at the Angel Jack had struck earlier and then the jacket and pistol the kid had dropped.

Then he smoothly pulled his shotgun out of the holster and shot the downed man, splattering blood and brains onto the square's cobbles and the feet of the Angels, who jumped back in surprise.

His suit remained perfectly clean.

"I do not tolerate fools, nor failure." The stranger said, holstering the weapon. He turned to Jack. "Many would see _you_ as foolish, to stand before a crowd of armed men and taunt them."

Jack's eyes narrowed "I did not taunt them. I just informed them of how this would go."

The stranger's eyebrows rose. "Oh? And wouldn't you say that your estimation of how this would end was a bit… optimistic?"

"Well, I just always look on the bright side, I guess." Jack said, sardonically.

Several members from both sides of the alley snickered.

The stranger coolly continued. "I must ask, why do you bother to stand in the Angels' way? If I tell them to attack, you will die, _if _you are lucky. Or they may keep you alive in… inventive fashions. You cannot hope to win against that many."

"I'm not exactly alone here, mister…?"

"Call me Azrael. And your companions are silly little grocers with no training, no decent weapons, and a shoddy barricade."

This caused an angry stir in the watch, especially from Ford, who muttered under his breath, "Shoddy? I'd like to bloody see how the bloody hell he does with only half a bloody hour…"

Azrael ignored them. "So why? Why bother?"

"Why the hell should I tell you, Az? You seem to think you can just roll over us, so I invite you to try."

Azrael sighed. "It's Azrael, Mr. Kiel. And you should tell me because it may be the only way to keep this from… escalating."

Jack gritted his teeth. "…Fine. To put it simply, this is my home."

"No, your home is a tiny apartment with a terrible TV and even worse beer. Why protect this street, this neighborhood?"

Jack glared. "I'm not going to bother asking how you know about my apartment. Anyways, who says how big a home has to be, Az? My apartment isn't my home, it's just where I sleep. Home is what you make of it, and I've made mine big."

"It's _Azrael._" Azrael, said, annoyed. He calmed quickly, and continued. "Still, I intend to claim all of the Barrens, and your neighborhood is next in line. _However,"_ Azrael said, raising a hand as Jack opened his mouth, "I'm certain that we can make it so that no one will be harmed. Even more, we will be able to assist each other! We could form a… coalition, you could say, where we protect each other. Indeed, I can see how one such as you, Mr. Kiel, would be a great lieutenant for my-"

"No."

Azrael stopped, surprised. "I'm sorry?"

"No."

Azrael smiled. It was a perfect smile, gorgeous even, but all teeth and no warmth. "Come now Mr. Kiel, surely we can-"

"You want us to sell our home? What would you do then? Tax us? _Protect_ us, and charge us for it? Push drugs on our kids? Kill any who refuse to do what you say?" Jack spat at Azrael's feet, causing the white-clad man to choke in outrage. "We've seen where that leads, Az-hat." Several watch members chuckled as Azrael's face shone red with fury. "I do not follow anyone except those I respect, and you aren't worth the shit of the cow that died to make that ridiculous suit of yours."

Jack brought his machete back to a ready position. "So you can shove your downtown conquest where the sun doesn't shine, Az-Hole."

Azrael shook with barely suppressed rage. Jack watched calmly, unperturbed. "_Hell,"_ he thought_, "if he doesn't want to get his shiny new suit wet, he's probably not a problem." _But then he noticed that Azrael had opened his mouth, and he saw a hint of…

Fangs?

His curiosity must have showed, because Azrael composed himself quickly, and turned back to the Angels, who opened hastily to clear a path. He strode back through angrily, stopped in the middle of the pack and turned around.

"You'll regret this, Mr. Kiel." His eyes shone strangely, Jack thought, a sort of red tint to them.

"I'll regret a lot of things, Az-monkey, but this is not one of them."

Another flicker of rage, another hint of… something, underneath that man's face. Who was this guy?

Azrael turned his back to Jack and stormed off through the Angels. As he reached the back, Jack let out a slight sigh of relief.

Until Azrael snapped his fingers and said, "Kill them." 

The Angels rushed forward, eager not to suffer the same fate as the comrade Azrael had executed.

Jack snarled in frustration. _"God damnit, it was so damn close…"_

The first two Angels at the head of the pack rushed forward, murder in their eyes and knives in their hands.

Jack screamed in defiance and rushed forward to meet them. He threw the remains of the stool into the face of one, knocking him to the ground, and swung the back edge of his blade into the wrist of the second, causing an audible _crack_ as the impact broke the thug's bones.

More came, and Jack met them with fury tempered with strategy. He changed position constantly, using the flat of his blade to goad his attackers and focus their attention on him, and a plated fist to put them down when they gave in to their anger.

He felt knives and chains scrape across his armor, but nothing managed to penetrate. He felt glad that none of the thugs had thought to shoot first, and now that the melee was underway, no-one had a clean shot.

So why did he hear gunfire?

He spun around as he planted a steel-toed boot into an Angel's gut to see the barricade was under fire. A few of the Angels had slipped around the side and were firing pistols into the assembled watch, who were firing back, without much success.

"_Fuck!"_

He was about to move to help when a knife drove into his gut, piercing the reinforced material. He swung the machete at the bastard that had stuck him, and heard a scream as he stumbled forward. He didn't know if it was his or the Angel's. He felt a kick to his side and landed heavily on the ground, where several Angel's tried to jump on him.

As he fended them off from his prone position, he heard a scream of agony from the barricades. He glanced over to see Sam hauling Ford, bleeding from the shoulder and yelling in pain, farther back into the alley while the rest did their best to cover him.

"_You fucking __**bastards!**__"_ Jack screamed as he rose like the wrath of kings, throwing Angels off of him. He kicked his nearest attackers off and ran toward the Angels firing at the barricade. He reached them just in time to see another of the watch fall, a bullet in the gut.

Jack could never recall what happened next, but he knew that he stopped using the flat of the blade. His senses seemed to dull, everything just fading away to a gray haze. He knew he was still moving, still _fighting_, and he felt another cut, in the arm this time. He felt warmth on his face, a wet warmth, and that shook him back to the real world.

The Angels were fleeing back down the alley. Many were limping. The square's cobbles were drenched in red, and there were eight Angels lying on the ground, groaning, bleeding, or unconscious.

Except for the one Jack was currently standing over, who had the machete in their back.

It turned out the warmth he felt on his face was blood. It wasn't his.

The Angel he stood over was, quite definitely, dead. Living people usually have a spine that's not split down the middle.

Jack looked down at the corpse. Then he pulled the blade free with a sickening crack, grimacing as the long cut on his arm protested.

He turned toward the barricade. The watch was looking at him with a mixture of relief, fatigue, and… fear?

He gestured to the wounded men. "Get them back onto the street and get them medical attention! And see if any of the damn blues can show up to bring these scum in. Might as well do _part_ of their fucking jobs." He finished as he prodded one of the living Angles with the toe of his boot. He turned back to the square and started to cross.

"Jack! What the hell are you doing?" Sam shouted from behind.

Jack didn't even turn around as he picked up speed. "I'm going to put the fear of Rhine Street into them!"

"Jack! We've won! Let it go!" Sam said, running out from behind the barricade, grabbing Jack by the shoulder.

Jack turned to face him, and Sam backed away. Jack noticed his hand was bloody from where he grasped him.

"_Gods, I wonder what I look like right now."_ Jack thought, finally noticing that he had blood splattered all across his armor. He looked at Sam, and then to the crew, and saw that both were definitely looking at him with fear in their eyes. _"Damn, I wonder what I look like to _them?_"_

Jack sighed and looked back to Sam's royal blue eyes. "You're right. Of course you are." He shook himself and straightened up.

"Right, how bad were we hurt?"

Sam shook his head. "Ford took one in the shoulder, but James stopped the bleeding. Darson…" He shook his head. "Darson took one to the belly. He's stopped bleeding, but he's unconscious."

"Damn… Faith's gonna be pissed about that…" Jack said, thinking of Darson's hot-tempered bride-to-be. "Okay, look, you guys get looked after and make sure the authorities that show up know where to go. If you can, help em out, since there probably won't be many." He added darkly. "I'll go run the rest of them off."

He held up his hands in front of him as Sam started to protest. "Don't worry Sam, I'm just going to run off any stragglers. No horrible vengeance or anything, I just want to make sure they don't double back."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Fine." he said, "But if you die I swear you'll never hear the end of it!"

Jack smirked, saluted, and sprinted down the alley, on the heels of the fallen Angels.

Jack didn't have to search long. He soon came across a group of three, crouching behind a dumpster and speaking quickly under the light of a back door.

"What the hell man? What the fucking _hell!?_" one was saying, hysterical.

"Damn it, man up already! We're Angels!" another said, smacking the first upside the head.

Jack crouched low and crept closer, peering around the dumpster.

The first turned to glare at him. "Fuck that! That bastard broke nearly half of us _on his own!_ What the hell is wrong with him?!"

The second pushed him. "The hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, "We're the baddest fuckers around! We've rolled over a dozen neighborhoods like this one, and we'll get this one too!"

"Hell no! I'm not going back there! He broke Graeg's arm! And he cut off one of Loredo's fingers!"

Jack winced. He hadn't meant to do _that._

The third one, another kid by the sound of him, pushed both of them. "Shut up shut up shut **up!** What he'll do is nothing compared to what Azrael will do if he figures out we fucked this up!"

They all shut up instantly, and Jack could _smell _the fear rolling off of them. What was so damn impressive about Az-hat?

"Fuck man, what do we do?"

Jack rose up and walked around the dumpster and into the light. "I would suggest running."

The trio looked up at him, covered in blood with a dripping machete, their faces ashen with sheer terror.

So Jack was a bit surprised when the kid actually lunged forward, screaming plunging a knife at his heart.

Jack sidestepped quickly, and the kid overbalanced and crashed into the dumpster. The other two ran forward, knives bared, and Jack easily blocked their clumsy attacks, parrying and dodging effortlessly. When they both ran forward together in desperation, Jack knocked their knives away and smartly bashed their heads together. As they collapsed in a heap, Jack knelt down and knocked them cold with two quick jabs.

As he rose, he felt a sharp pain in his side. He growled and whirled around to see the kid that had went down earlier drunkenly weaving, pulling his knife out of Jack without any sort of grace.

Jack grunted, and looked at the new wound. It wasn't serious, or even minor, just a lucky graze. He dropped the machete and folded his arms. "Kid you've got a lotta nerve doing that when both your buddies are down."

The kid staggered against the wall of the alley. "I got-… gotta kill you, dammit…" He stumbled forward, knife ahead.

Jack easily slapped the knife away. And the kid surprised him once again by trying to punch him in the face.

Jack caught the fist as it flew. "Jesus, will you just give up already? At least that other kid had the sense to stop fighting!"

The kid struggled feebly against the grip. "Damn it, you… *kaff*… you have to die! Or Azrael…"

The kid slumped to the ground, still held tight, where he proved his resourcefulness once again by trying to bite at Jack's knees.

Jack watched, stunned and bemused, as the kid tried to chew through his metal shin guard. Finally, he pulled the kid up to eye level. "Geez, what the hell will Az-hole do to you that's worth cracking your molars as an alternative?"

This time he wasn't too surprised when the kid attempted to headbutt him. Jack just caught him as he came forward and gave him a push away. The kid half fell, half collapsed to the ground, and feebly tried to get up again.

Jack watched, unperturbed. "Damn, if you could actually fight, you'd be a terror. You're wasted on the Angels."

"Funny you should use the term "terror", Mister Kiel." Came a familiar voice from right behind him.

Jack spun around low, scooping up his machete and swinging as he went around at head height. Which didn't make a difference since Azreal, in his immaculate motorcycle leathers, was standing fifteen feet down the alley.

Jack kept the machete up in a guarded position, narrowing his eyes at the white-clad man. "Looks like you finally decided to show, Az-"

"Save it, Kiel. I'm not interested in your childish name calling. I'm more interested in what you did to my men." Azrael said, waving a hand dismissively toward Jack.

"And I'm sure they're so glad you care." Jack said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he turned to look at the kid, who was pale as death, or Azrael's clothes. He promptly fainted.

Jack turned around just in time to see a gloved fist slam into his chest, throwing him over the recumbent Angels and down the alley.

He rolled as he landed a solid six feet from where he was, and pushed himself off the ground coughing. _"What the hell!? How'd he move that_-"

He didn't have time to finish the thought before he felt another blow to his side, a kick this time. Once again he rolled down the alley, and he felt his bruises forming as he tried to get into a standing position.

He looked up in time to see Azrael _leaping_ down on him from above. He jumped to one side just as the man's gloved fists slammed into the alley floor where his chest had been, cracking a crater open in the asphalt.

Jack was on his feet and his machete was still in his hand, but he sure as hell felt fear right then. "How the fuck did you just crack the street!?"

Azrael straightened up and adjusted his gloves. "Quite easily, I assure you, Mister Kiel. And I can also guarantee that your ribcage will not be nearly so difficult to break."

Jack gritted his teeth and stepped forward. Before he could do anything else though, Azrael took a step and _blurred_, and before he knew it Jack felt two heavy blows to his chest.

He felt a rib crack. And as he tried to move his body informed that, no, in fact, it hadn't been _one_ rib…

He nearly fell over right then, but managed to stay upright and swing at the white blur in front of him, which yielded a loud rip and a deep gash of red against the perfect white.

Azrael staggered back, looking down at the deep slash in his suit. A cut, more like a gouge, ran from one side of his shoulders down across to his opposite hip.

Jack smirked, but then he noticed three things.

First, the Azrael wasn't showing any signs of pain, more just a slight interest that Jack had managed to hit him.

Second, a wound like that should have been spilling buckets by now. It wasn't bleeding at all.

Finally, the wound, the _large gaping hole_, was quickly closing over itself.

Jack stared with his mouth open as the torn flesh knitted, pulsed, and _grew_ back together, not even leaving a scar.

Azrael cocked his head, then nodded as if satisfied, before looking back to Jack. "I must admit, I am impressed. Even with a broken rib…" he cocked his head again. "Several, in fact, you managed to cut past my defenses and deal me a strike that would've killed a mortal."

"_Mortal?"_ Jack thought, his mind reeling at the impossible things he had seen as he staggered back.

"As I said before, I believe you would be quite the asset to my cause…"

"Fuck… off… Az-hole! I'm…" Jack coughed violently as he felt his wounds through the adrenaline. "I am NOT… going to join… your fucked-up crusade!" Jack finished, grimacing as he brought his machete to bear.

Azrael raised an eyebrow even as his mouth twisted into a scowl. "I'm impressed once again. Even wounded, exhausted, and without backup, you defy me. I admire that. However." He said stepping toward Jack. "As for whether or not you join me…"

Jack watched as the man in white's eyes shifted from cold ice to a glowing bloody red. He seemed to grow taller, and his presence pressed on the alley like he didn't fit, like he was _wrong_ somehow. And when he spoke, his teeth lengthened to a vicious point and his voice carried the weight of granite tombstones.

"_I'm afraid you don't have a choice in the matter."_

Jack rushed forward, swinging, but the… _beast_ swung a fist, striking him in the chest.

He felt his remaining ribs give as he flew back into the alley wall.

And after his head crashed against the dumpster, he felt nothing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Second chapter! Took a little rewriting and experimentation with different viewpoints and time lapses to get the feeling right, but I think it paid off well.

Still editing chapter 3, but it should be up soon. Thanks for reading, and please review!


	3. Chapter 3: Embraced

Jack woke up.

He felt… wet.

He opened his eyes.

He was back in the square. But it was… wrong.

The cobbles were dark red, and the light from the sun was crimson against the run-down brick walls. There were puddles on the ground from the rain, and the water was inky and dark. There were no trees.

Jack looked around the square, eyes narrowed. Down the alleys that should have led to streets or intersections there was only a smoky red fog. The sky itself was dark and hollow next to that horrible red sun. He looked at the broken ground at his feet and saw…

Blood.

Jack saw it seeping up out of the cobbles. It spread across the square, mixing with the darkened water.

Jack stepped back in horror, splashing the thick liquid.

The blood was rising. It swiftly crept up above his ankles, then to his knees.

Jack growled and kicked his legs through the red tide, splashing blood and feeling a numbing warmth as it rose to his waist.

Jack waded to the entrance of the square, toward what used to be a street, but the current became swifter, and he felt himself get pulled back to the center, struggling against the current as the blood flowed up to his chest, unrelenting.

Jack knew he should be getting somewhere, but the current was pulling him back, draining him, like it was his own blood he was swimming through.

He felt the blood rise up above to his neck, and the cloying, metallic smell was overpowering. He kicked feebly to stay up above, but he felt heavy, and he it was hard to move. He swore he heard someone laughing, off in the distance.

As he started to sink under, he felt something brush against his leg. He looked down to see an old, dead tree branch, a bright grey in the strange red light, tapping gently against his side.

That small, dead piece of wood reminded him of the square _he _knew. The one where dead leaves crunched underfoot, where the rain swelled and made dirty puddles, where four twisted, gnarled trees just _stood, _ defying man and nature and time and all attempts to remove them.

And as he fell under the bloody wave, Jack laughed, knowing that wherever he was, whoever was trying to trap him in this ancient square, they didn't know that this was _his _place. Not just a battleground, but a homefront.

And from the four corners of the square, gnarled, grey trees sprouted, grew, and took root, slowly draining the crimson lake from the square.

Jack could hear, on the edge of the red pool, something shriek in anger at this sudden development. Jack's smile widened. There was a simple joy in pissing off something that deserved to be pissed off.

As the twisted roots fed on the sanguine tide, Jack felt his feet touch solid ground as the blood flowed away, and he collapsed on all fours. He just knelt in the middle of the square, tired, bent, and so bloodied the word didn't do him justice.

But, like the trees, still unbroken.

Jack looked around the square. Blood still covered everything. The square looked… dulled, like the blood had taken something that made the place significant. A great deal had been washed away, and he couldn't help but feel that what was gone now had been important.

But the square was still there, and the trees were still there, and he was still there. Something had been lost, but, for now, he was still there.

And, for now, that was enough.

Jack fell to the ground with a sigh and closed his eyes.

Jack woke up. Again.

He opened his eyes and immediately narrowed them in the face of bright, fluorescent light.

As he slowly regained his vision, he noticed a few things.

First, he was on a metal table. It was cold.

Second, he was _chained_ to the metal table. The shackles were cold too.

Third, he felt strange. Something about _him_ was different. But it was subtle. Hard to define.

There was the sound of a door opening, and then…

"Ah, so you're awake at last, Mister Kiel."

_AZRAEL._

The name blew through his mind at the speed of rage. He tried to move his head but found it was also restrained.

"Ah-ah-ah, don't get up. This is going to take a while, and it would be much easier on the both of us if you simply stayed put." Jack heard Azrael pace around the table. "Now you're probably noticing a few things by now."

Even on a metal table, at the mercy of this deadly, freakish enemy, Jack still felt gratified when his brain immediately came up with, _"That I'm chained to a table? I know this may be your kink and all, but sorry man, I don't swing that way."_ His voice came out as a raspy croak though, as Azrael continued.

"You've woken far quicker than I'd anticipated. I didn't even have you fully locked down when you began to stir. But then, the Embrace does cause a few remarkable changes, beyond the obvious."

Jack's snarky response was overruled by the rest of his mind as he thought, _"What Embrace? What changes?"_ He didn't realize he'd said these words aloud until Azrael laughed.

"Oh-ho! Quite a fast healer, I see. Most can't speak for at least an hour after they wake. Many not even for a few days! But then…" And here Jack heard Azrael's voice lower in annoyance. "You are rather good at running your mouth, aren't you?"

Jack was about to enhance this reputation before Azrael continued. "But to answer your question, the Embrace is a unique process in where one, such as I, takes another, such as you, and gifts them with a new existence. And thus, the other, in this case you, takes on a few _significant _changes. Can you hear it, Mister Kiel? Come now, I know you have some imitation of intellect."

"_Smug bastard,_" thought Jack. _"What is he talking about? Hear what?"_

"I'll give you a hint," said Azrael, his voice much closer now. "Listen… for what's no longer there."

Jack mentally quirked an eyebrow. _"What's the hell is he talking about? What's no longer the-"_

And that's when he caught on.

What's no longer there. That strange feeling he'd been having.

He couldn't feel his heartbeat. Or his breath.

In fact, he realized that he hadn't been breathing at all for the last minute.

"Oh, _fuck._"

Azrael laughed again, and this time it had the edge of maniacal malice in it. "Oh, _very_ good! I see you just puzzled it out! Yes, Mister Kiel. Your heart has stopped beating. Along with that, as we speak, your internal organs are becoming atrophied, necrotic. Don't worry, you won't need them anymore. As a matter of fact, you'll no longer need to breathe, eat, drink or even take a dump, since you are, for all clinical purposes…"

Jack could nearly _hear _his widening grin.

"Dead."

Jack's mind wheeled as alarms went off inside his head. _"No. Nonononono this isn't right, this isn't happening."_

Azrael laughed again. "Your face is _priceless!_ Oh dear god, I wish I'd taped this, the rest would've been rolling on the floor…"

A small part of Jack thought, _"The rest?" _though it was quickly overruled by the bigger thought.

"How the _fuck_ am I still alive?!"

Azrael continued to laugh. "Oh, I assure you, you're quite dead. Which leads to the next big piece of news!" He cackled, honestly_ cackled_ with glee. "You see, the Embrace, as I mentioned, turns one such as you into a creature like myself. And while I am far older than you, and you're just a neonate, we are both children of Caine. We are both… _vampires._"

The word echoed around the room. By all rights, it should have shattered windows, thundered, caused a dramatic flash of lightning. But it just bounced around the room, and in Jack's mind.

"You're fucking with me."

"I am not, Mister Kiel. And you'd do well to remember that you're chained to the table, so it may be difficult to kill me right now. Especially since I'm already dead."

"No, there's no such thing as vampires, they're a myth, a-"

"Legend, Mr. Kiel? And how can you explain what you've seen me do tonight? Grow fangs? Strike harder than any mortal assailant? Move faster than any mortal athlete? Repair a three-inch-deep gouge in seconds? Good shot, by the way."

Jack tried to turn to face him, and was denied by the restraints again. "If you're so damn powerful, why didn't you just kill us all yourself back in the Square?"

"Quite simply, I'm not allowed to. It's a covenant all Kindred… that's what we vampires call ourselves, by the way… It's a covenant we all share, called the Masquerade."

Jack snorted at this. "You just have to make everything sound pretentious, don't you?"

Azrael ignored him and went on. "You see, many mortals would have the same reaction you did if they knew there were vampires. It would be the Inquisition all over again, and that was no picnic, according to the very few Kindred who lived through it. And of course nowadays you have satellite, and infrared, and machine guns and nuclear weapons. It'd be a disaster. So we work in secret."

"What are you, the bloody Illuminati?" Jack grunted as he pulled at the chains.

"Close enough. We use more indirect means of control. We have allies, retainers, influence. The Angels for example. Cat's paws, every one, and beyond knowing I am vicious and bloodthirsty, they don't know my supernatural nature. If any were to find out, they would be eliminated. And now, there's you."

"What?"

Azrael's voice was _dripping_ with terrifying glee. "An interesting thing about vampires is that while we drink mortal blood, our own blood gives us various interesting abilities, such as the speed and strength I displayed earlier, along with a healing ability, though that takes time. But one of my personal favorites is that of the blood bond. Essentially, whoever drinks of my blood must obey me. Many of the Angels are bound in this way, though far fewer since you valiant defense. And now, so are you, since it is my blood that has Embraced you. You must obey my commands. And I know just the command for you, Mr. Kiel."

Now Azrael finally leaned into view, his face dark and sinister against the fluorescent light. "I'm going to make you torch Rhine Street. Burn it to the ground, and slaughter every single man, woman and child. I will show you, and the city, what happens to those who defy my will!"

Jack immediately felt his mind burn with hatred as the Azrael's command took hold. And it wasn't at Azrael. The thought of Rhine Street burning, of the deaths of his closest friends and neighbors, this was his sole purpose as Azrael moved to release him. He _relished _the idea.

And Jack felt something… _rise_ from within him. It was bestial, raw, simplistic. It wanted to kill and devour and dominate all before it. Jack felt, rather than saw, his vision go red as the bestial feeling aimed itself at Rhine Street, howled in glee…

And stopped, held back by twisted roots, held in by ancient cobbles of a place that was older than he was. It snapped, snarled, clawed at the spirit of a place that Jack called home, but could not break through, could not hunt those its keeper protected.

But the beast was still off of its chain, and it couldn't be contained unless it was sated. So the roots turned the beast upon the one who would threaten its keeper's home.

And as Azrael released Jack, Jack released the beast, and Azrael shouted in surprise as Jack's teeth lengthened and lunged at his throat…

Jack woke up for the third time that night, feeling the rain on his face.

He groaned and sat up, looking around.

He was still in the room Azrael had taken him to. Though it could hardly be called a room anymore.

The floor was cracked with impact marks and craters. Someone, or something, had torn a hole in one wall, through which could be seen a rain-clouded vista of the city. The metal table was in a different corner of the room, overturned and dented beyond repair. Jack looked at his hands to see them _covered_ in blood, and studded with stone chips, metal shards and buckshot shrapnel. He looked down farther to see an honest-to-god wooden _stake_ sticking out of his belly.

"O-kay…"

He stood carefully, but felt no pain. Even when he pulled the stake out it just felt like the area was numb, and even as he watched the hole sealed over with new skin.

"Yeah… that's fucked up."

He turned to look around the room and finally spotted Azrael. To say he was not in good shape would be along the same lines as saying that the Grand Canyon is a small divot. His white motorcycle leathers were bloodied and ripped to shreds. His face was a mess, with a broken nose, disfigured cranium and aeven a few missing teeth. He was _affixed_ to the wall by virtue of what appeared to be two legs of the metal table, torn off and stabbed through his shoulders and… and was he missing a _leg!?_

Oh, and Jack's machete was sticking out of his chest.

Jack walked toward the remains of the… goddamn it, _vampire._ If he had participated in this train wreck, if he could do _that_ to someone else, then he may as well accept that fucking fairy tale. Thankfully, despite the amount of damage around him, and noise that had probably come along with it, it looked like no one had investigated. "_Though in this city, no one would give a damn anyway,"_ Jack thought bitterly.

He reached forward to pull his machete free and then leaped back in surprise when the corpse twitched!

Jack fought back bile rising form his throat as Azrael raised a misshapen arm and pawed feebly at the metal spikes in his shoulders, tugging at the twisted edges. Finally, he gave up and stared at Jack, his eyes seething with hatred, and growled, haltingly, "You… you will suffer! I… am your… _sire!_ I… will … be obeyed! Release… me!"

Again, Jack felt something in him try to comply, something try to pull his master down and beg forgiveness… but that thought was again pushed aside by twisted roots, and Jack simply stared back and shook his head.

Azrael cursed and spat and struggled against the pinning metal. "Insolent whelp! How can you… _possibly_ resist me!? You… are an… _infant_ compared to me!"

Jack ignored him and searched the room. He found his remaining belongings in a tray against the far wall as Azrael continued his rant. "And how!? _HOW!?_ How can… how can you… possess the powers of Fortitude!? And how can… you not be… wounded _at all!?_ HOW!?_"_

"Az-hole, I really haven't a goddamn clue what the fuck you are talking about. And I don't care." Jack answered as he continued searching the room. "According to you, I'm now something out of a crappy comic book, a fucked-up fairy tale. And what's worse is I actually _believe_ you!" Jack found a small refrigerator that had been broken open during the fighting. Inside were several blood packs. He took them and stuffed them in a crumpled duffel, found buried in the debris.

"I had no goddamn issue with you, before you tried to burn my people, my _home._" He stood up and turned to face Azrael, still feebly struggling on the wall. "If the little I know about vampires is true, you're probably immortal. You have _infinite _time. You could've tried doing things the peaceful way, the hard way, try to build things up instead of tearing them down and ruling the ashes." Jack got up in Azrael's face. "But you attacked us, sent your goons, tried to kill us!" He grabbed the handle of his machete. "Well, congratulations, you succeeded! I'm dead, thanks to you!"

Jack twisted the handle, eliciting a scream from Azrael as the blade tore his heart. "By whatever gods that are still bothering to listen, I wish I knew how to end your miserable, fucked-up existence _right now!_" He yanked the machete out, causing Azrael to gasp in either pain or relief, though Jack couldn't tell. "I don't know shit about vampires. Just the crap about garlic, mirrors, running water, crosses, all that story stuff. The only thing I know that is consistent, that even _you_ are probably afraid of, is sunlight."

Jack turned to the hole in the wall. The sky, while still dark, was starting to show signs of a new day coming. "So I think I'll just leave you here, with this big hole in the wall to keep you company."

Azrael's bloodied, puffy eyes widened. Jack realized that this was the first time he'd seen Azrael afraid.

"No! No, don't! I'll do anything, swear a life boon, give you money, power, any-"

Jack whirled around and drove his fist into Azrael's jaw, feeling the bone crack beneath the force of the blow.

"You have killed me. You have threatened my home. You have harmed my friends. You have tried to force me to kill those I love. _You have taken the sun from me._" Jack said, passionlessly, as Azrael's eyes spun with pain. "Nothing you might offer could even be trusted."

He turned away, scooping up the duffel of blood packs.

"And nothing you could offer would ever be enough."

Jack looked over the edge and saw the twisted remains of a fire escape leading down to a back alley, among the rubble from the wall. He looked over his shoulder to the broken form of Azrael.

"So, Azrael, since you consider yourself an angel of death, surely you don't fear the light of heaven?"

Jack started climbing down as Azrael began to scream. Loudly.


End file.
